Smile, Even If It Hurts
by girltogirl
Summary: You haven't cracked a smile since she left. Brittana. During Britney 2.0, and a little bit after.


You're slowly drowning. At least, that's what it feels like.

You've become a shell of your former self. Your once bright, blue eyes are now a dull blue-grey, empty and lifeless. You're numb to everything, and everyone, around you. They whisper and stare, noticing your change, and you know they stare at you, but you don't care. Your hands are always covered with the crumbs of chips- bag, after bag, after bag. You can't seem to stop eating them; the only good things in your life that stay constant. You don't even try in school, anymore. And your smile, the smile that _she _said had always lit up even the darkest of rooms and made her happiest girl, the one that was always been perched on your lips, is long gone.

You haven't cracked a smile since she left.

It isn't that you don't keep in touch with her, or that you're broken up- far from that. But in the very back of your mind, you can feel her slowly pulling away from you, leaving you without so much as a good-bye, or a sorrowful face. It's not enough for you, anymore. She isn't online as much as she used to be, and when she is, she always seems hurried and tense, like she doesn't have very long to talk to you.

Or, maybe she doesn't want to. That's what scares you the most. You can't even try to comprehend that maybe, just maybe, she's moving on, leaving you in the dust, as a Lima loser. You try and tell yourself that she would _never _do that, but what do you know?

You're scared you're going to lose the one person in your life that has made every bad memory go away.

Or, maybe you've already lost her.

You crave her touch, her presence. You want small, tanned arms wrapped around you, a beautiful melody of a voice giggling softly in your ear, small pink lips pressed against yours.

And it's not even that all you miss is kissing her or being close to her; it's more than that.

You miss your best friend. The one who would stand beside you, linking her pinky with yours, shouting angrily in Spanish at some loser freshman who tried to hit on you, or anyone who hurt you. You miss the one who would always play with your hair, braiding it, brushing it, making you purr like a kitten. You miss being on the Cheerios with her, your bodies swaying in unison. But most of all, you miss her singing with you in Glee club.

It isn't the same without her. You'd noticed her absence right away; it was the first thing you could see on the first day back to school. You began speaking less, growing more lonely, missing her. You began to withdraw from the Glee club. You got kicked off the Cheerios. And you began to notice the small, but visible, changes in her.

And now, here you are, nothing but an empty shell, waiting for something, anything, to change.

You're numb. You're too far gone, and you need someone to pull you into the light, to bring you to the surface, to save you from drowning completely.

Specifically, a certain Latina.

* * *

You're at your locker, looking at pictures on the door of you and her. Your faces are pressed close together, both of you grinning wildly, arms wrapped around each other. Another one is of the two of you kissing. It's a simple one; you're both in your Cheerios uniforms, leaning in toward each other, lips locked against each other, and eyes closed. A usual relationship-type picture, but it makes your stomach turn in uncomfortable ways when you think about how soft her lips have always been. And finally, there's your favorite; the two of you are at the beach. Both of you are in bikini's, sitting on towels on the sand. You're laughing at the camera pointed towards you, while she looks at you with a longing, lustful expression.

The expression that shows how much she loves you, how much she cares about you, and how much she wants to be with you.

You're lost in thoughts, staring at the picture in question, when Jacob Ben Israel creeps up next to you, shouting his usual stupid questions at you, his camera crew right behind him with their cameras pointed straight at you.

For some reason, you get angry, and you're slightly surprised; you haven't felt anger since- you don't want to think about it.

"Leave me alone!" you shout. You don't want to deal with this today, or any day.

But he keeps asking you questions, and you only grow angrier.

"Leave me alone," you repeat, more forcefully, a hint of desperation evident in your voice.

You notice people glancing your way and whispering, some holding out their phones. Frustration builds in you, and you can feel tears coming. You realize you're about to break down, but you can't; not here, not now, not with everyone watching. Jacob is still standing in your way, eagerly holding the microphone to your lips. In a flash of panic, you shove him, and he stumbles backward into the lockers on the other side of the hall.

The crowd grows, and people cheer as he steps back toward you, yet again, and keeps asking you questions, desperately.

All you can see is black as you pound down on him with your umbrella.

* * *

You haven't left your room for three days.

You haven't showered, brushed your teeth, put on make up, or have even attempted at brushing your hair. Cheeto bags and containers of Oreo cookies are strewn around your room, crumbs on the floor. Two bottles of soda had spilled on your desk, causing old homework assignments to become ruined.

You haven't spoken a word to yourself, and others, in the past few days.

It's not like you care. All you do is lay on your bed, staring at your computer screen.

_Santana Lopez:_

_UNAVAILABLE. _

You let out a slight whimper, touching the screen.

"Oh, San, I miss you so much," you whimper. Your voice is raspy, and chokes on the words, unused to talking.

She's so far gone, and she hasn't even said goodbye.

Maybe you are, too.

"Was I not good enough for you?" you murmur at the screen.

That's the question you keep asking yourself. Maybe you'd never been good enough for her, which was why she up and left you when she could, and then grew distant throughout the next few months. Or, maybe she found someone else. Or, maybe the two of you just grew apart, without rhyme or reason.

Sobs begin building in the back of your throat, and you let out a high-pitched wail.

"San," you sob. "Please come back."

* * *

A knock sounds at your door.

"What?" you groan, your voice muffled by the pillow you hide your face in, laying face-down on the bed.

You assume it's your mom, coming to check on you. She's gotten frantic the last few days, and she hasn't known how to help. You know you should feel guilty that you're worrying her, and everyone else, to death, but you don't feel anything.

You're too far gone.

Nothing can bring you back. Except, maybe, _her. _

No one replies; instead, there's another gentle rap at the door.

"Go away, Mom!" you yell as loud as one can through a pillow.

"Britt-Britt, it's me," a gentle voice murmurs softly, but you can hear it, clear as day.

You freeze- not that you've been moving much in the first place- and your heart starts pounding. You sit up slowly, your head spinning.

You'd know that voice anywhere. You'd know that nickname anywhere.

"San?" you whisper.

Santana opens the door, hesitantly.

"Hi," she says, looking a little embarrassed and nervous.

"Is that really you?"

Santana slowly makes her way toward you, stepping over empty bags of chips and crackers and cookies. She frowns when she looks down and around, noticing the mess, noticing your appearance, noticing what you've become.

"It's me, baby."

"Wh-what are you doing here?"

The bed dips as Santana sits next to you, closely, and holds out a pinky. Hesitantly, you take it.

"I'm being here for you," she says, looking at you fully, for the first time in months.

You hesitate, looking at her, trying to ignore the fluttering in your chest at the sight of her beautiful, brown eyes staring at you.

"I thought...I thought you left me," you whisper, feeling slightly ashamed, but mostly scared of what the beautiful Latina sitting next to you would say next.

"I could never," the Latina begins in a firm voice, "leave you. _Ever. _You're my world, Britt-Britt."

You let out a sob, more out of feeling touched.

"I'm so sorry," Santana whispers, looking so pained and guilty and upset.

"You know I'll always forgive you, San," you sniffle.

Santana strokes your hand, and reaches up, with her other hand, to your face, wiping away your tears.

"I'm so sorry I haven't been here for you."

"San-"

"I hate it. College. It's not the same without you."

"McKinley isn't the same without you, either."

Santana wraps you in her arms, and for the first time in months, you feel protected and safe.

She captures your lips with hers, and the two of you are in a trance, lost of any consious thought. This is something you've definitely missed. You pull back, and the Latina smiles softly and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

"I'll always love you, Britt-Britt."

"Promise?" you ask, sounding hopeful.

"Pinky swear," she replies, glancing down at your linked pinkies.

You smile through watery eyes. Santana glances as her watch, and blinks.

"Damn, I have to leave in a few minutes," she says, looking frustrated.

"You only came back for today?" you ask, surprised and disappointed.

"I needed to see you," the Latina replies, smiling slightly. "It was worth the six-hour bus ride."

You beam. The Latina slowly gets up, to your dismay, and you reach out, grabbing her arm.

"Could you...could you lay with me? Just for a minute?" you say in an innocent voice.

Santana looks grateful that she has an excuse to stay, and manages to wedge herself next to you. She nuzzles your neck, and you let out a content sigh.

"I wish we could stay like this forever."

"Me too, Britt-Britt."

* * *

She leaves you, once again, but this time you're smiling and waving at her as she boards the bus back.

But you know she'll be back.

And you know she'll always love you.

_Finis._

* * *

**This is my first Brittana (and Glee) fic. Please review, and let me know what you guys think.**


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